On November 2nd, 1983
by Liisa
Summary: AU "No matter what you hear or what you see…promise me you won't get out of bed." Mary remembers. She doesn't get out of bed.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: I blame Carly for this. Posting all these spn-feels-inducing things on November second…that's just mean. I haven't written anything in…..well, in a long time. So this was very quick and not edited, stemming from a thought I had a few months ago about Mary actually remembering future!Dean's warning and not getting out of bed. I wanted to post it today cause, well, it's today. All the feels are today._

_—_

On November 2nd, 1983…

_by Liisakee_

—

"_Hey, Mary…Can I tell you something?"_

"_Sure."_

"_Even if this sounds really weird…will you promise me that you will remember?"_

"MOM!"

Mary Winchester startled out of the memory. An old memory. A fragment of a time that she had done her best to forget, and with good reason.

_His green eyes had been filling with tears. _

_They were filling with tears…and she had promised._

She blinked and turned to face her oldest son, his own eyes bright with delight as he raced into the room, holding God-knows-what in the hands he thrust towards her.

Forcing herself to smile, she bent down to investigate Dean's latest discovery.

A grasshopper. Lovely.

"I saved him!" Dean declared proudly, holding his hands partly open so that Mary could see, but the poor insect could not escape. "Dad was just gonna mow right over him, but I caught him just in time!"

Mary had long ago resigned herself to that fact that having two boys was going to mean mud and insects and animals and who-know-what-else would be brought into her kitchen. One little grasshopper wasn't enough to make her squeamish, but she did have a cooling lasagna on the stove and Sammy was scooting around on the floor, looking for anything and everything to put into his mouth.

"Good work, Love." She kissed the top of Dean's head as she straightened up. "Mr. Grasshopper is very lucky you saved him." She raised a motherly eyebrow. "I bet he'd love the wood pile in the backyard. Why don't you go find a spot for him and then tell your father that dinner's ready?"

Green eyes shining, Dean muttered an "Aw yeah!", and raced back outside, hands carefully cradling his prize.

Midway through an Olympian reach to snag a dried pasta shell off the ground, Sammy stopped short, his eyes following his big brother's trail as he raced out the door. Mary rolled her eyes, bent to remove the shell from Sammy's reach, and hoisted the baby into her arms.

"You'll never be bored, Sam," she said, smiling as she brought him back into the kitchen.

She stopped short again as her eyes fell on what she had been staring at before Dean ran in.

The calendar.

"_On November 2__nd__, 1983…don't get out of bed."_

Her hands tightened on Sammy and she heard the mower stop in the front yard, Dean's laughter mixing with John's voice as they both started to come inside.

Quickly, she looked away from the calendar, moving to place Sammy in his high chair and bring the rest of the dishes to the table. As John and Dean walked in, she forced herself not to think about it.

At least for the next few hours.

* * *

She was getting used to having John home again.

While she'll be the first to admit that their marriage hadn't been very smooth sailing, Mary still loved him dearly. And Dean, to put it simply, hero-worshipped John. The roughest part of the separation had probably been Dean: trying to figure out what to tell Dean, trying not to cry in front of Dean…But he was a smart boy. Mary knew Dean had figured out more than she wanted him to. He had been forced to grow up a little too fast for her liking.

But John was back, the wounds were mending, and Dean was loving being a 4-year-old again.

He hadn't dropped the "uber-protective-big-brother" cape though…Mary had a feeling that Dean would carry that mantle his whole life.

She flipped on the light in Sammy's room and Dean raced out of her arms. Hoisting himself up, he peered into Sammy's crib, leaning down to kiss his baby brother on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Sam." Dean said solemnly.

Mary couldn't help but smile. Dean had almost, _almost_ been asleep, when his eyes shot open, frantically informing his mother that he had forgotten to kiss Sam goodnight and he absolutely, positively could _not _fall asleep without doing so.

"Sammy won't fall asleep either, Mom," Dean had told her seriously. "He won't know its bedtime unless _I_ tell him."

Though it was already well past his bedtime, and Mary's eyes were heavy, she had smiled at the declaration and brought Dean into Sam's room.

Sure enough, the baby was all wide-eyes and giggles, not remotely tired as he smiled up at his big brother.

"Goodnight love," she added, leaning down herself to caress her baby.

"Hey, Dean," John's voice floated in from the doorway behind him.

They both turned and Dean shouted "Daddy!" and ran into John's waiting arms. John had only briefly gone to the hardware store, finally getting around to fixing the downstairs toilet that they had all been living without for the past few weeks.

Dean hadn't wanted him to leave after dinner. Probably, Mary sighed, afraid that he wouldn't come back. But after several dozen reassurances that he would be back before Dean went to sleep, John pecked Mary on the cheek and hurried out the door.

Thanks to Mary and Dean's renegotiation of Dean's bedtime, John had indeed gotten home before Dean fell asleep.

She grinned as she walked towards Father and Son, loving how brightly Dean smiled as they talked, and loving that John was there to see the smile.

And, come to think of it, loving that she could pass off the work.

"You got him?" she asked John, knowing that even if she had wanted to finish putting Dean to bed, he would probably cling to John until he fell asleep.

"I got him," John reassured her with a smile.

* * *

With both the boys finally asleep, Mary did her best not to make too much noise as she sifted through the boxes.

Just how many journals had she kept?

John always said it was "cute" that she kept journals. The habit had started when she was a preteen and just starting to realize that there were lots of things she wanted to say that she couldn't talk about with her parents, particularly her father. Being a family of hunters, she was always a bit of an odd girl and never much good at making friends. Her journal had become an outlet for all the things she wanted to say but couldn't.

When she had met John, her journal writing had slowed down.

After her father died, she had stopped writing all together.

But her last entry…her last entry was what she was looking for.

She knew she had written it down.

The box she had been trying to inch off the shelf decided to fall on her right at that moment, dropping a few objects onto her head and the floor, making quite a bit of noise that she winced at. She froze for several seconds, waiting for the wail of an infant rudely awoken from sleep, or the pitter-patter of Dean's bare feet as he tries to sneak over into Sammy's room.

Thankfully all she heard were slow, steady shuffles coming up the stairs.

That would be John.

"I thought we were blaming me for being too noisy after bedtime," John said smartly, coming into the room and smirking at her as she tried to negotiate the rest of the box off the shelf without making more noise.

"Oh hush, no one woke up," Mary defended herself as John walked over to help her with the box and she leaned down to pick up what had dropped.

"Must be important to risk waking up the kids," John mused, glancing at the items in the box. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Your journals?"

Mary gave herself a silent "Hurrah!" at having finally found the right box. "Just feeling a little reminiscent, I guess," she lied with a smile.

She didn't like lying to John, but this was not something he would understand or even care to. John Winchester, as her father liked to put it, was a nice, normal boy. Rooting through old journals to find out the exact words that a hunter told her ten years ago that might affect her life tonight…well, anything and everything having to do with that experience was not something that she would be talking to him about again. It was hard enough explaining it all the first time around. Building the lies upon yet more lies.

John's face fell a bit more as he looked at her. "Thinkin' about your dad?"

"No, er-no, I just…" the lies didn't roll off her tongue quite as easily as they used to, "I was thinking of starting a journal again….for the boys." That was plausible, right? Actually, it sounds like a good idea. "It'd be fun for them to read about their lives when they were growing up together."

He smiled at that thought. "That's not a bad idea. So you're looking for inspiration?" He motioned to the old journals they had gathered back into the box.

"Something like that."

"Well, try to keep it down, alright?" He leaned over and kissed her briefly. "I intend to actually watch the whole game tonight."

She snorted a laugh. John had a bad habit of falling asleep in front of the TV. In the whole of their married life, she didn't think he had ever actually watched a whole basketball game. But she knew he worked hard and if that was how he relaxed…she could give it to him. Especially tonight when she had….other plans.

John huffed at her laugh and turned away, his footsteps receding down the hallway and stairs.

After she heard him get all the way downstairs, she reached down to pull out the journal that she had already located from the box.

It had been her last journal, with only a few entries in it, so it didn't take her long to find her very last entry.

**November 2, 1983**

**Dean says not to forget it.**

"_No matter what you hear or what you see…promise me you won't get out of bed."_

She snapped the journal shut, her heart pounding and her eyes flicking to the small day calendar on John's side of the bed.

November 2, 1983.

She hadn't gotten the day wrong after all.

Her heart was beating so loud she was afraid it would wake up the kids.

She opened the journal again, reading her short note.

**Dean says not to forget.**

_Dean._

A hand came up to her mouth to try and muffle her erratic breathing.

What was happening?

Her mind whirled and she started to get a headache as she thought of the stranger who had come into her life and left just as quickly. He had been a hunter. A good hunter at that. Maybe even better than her father. He had been able to predict the future with his father's journal….he had told her not to forget.

She almost had.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 10.

Two more hours.

Carefully, she collected her journals and put them back in the box, placing it back over near the closet door and walked to the doorway. She turned off the light in her room, taking a small bit of comfort in the faint sound from the downstairs television that floated through the hallway to her.

She felt herself slip back into 18-year-old Mary Campbell.

She sniffed the air.

No sulfur.

The small nightlight in the hallway did not flicker.

She did feel a bit cold, but she knew it was probably nerves.

Her fingers itched for holy water and salt.

She watched Dean's door for several minutes and then switched over to Sammy's.

Bed.

She was supposed to be in bed.

And not get out.

Slowly, she made herself get under the covers, reaching over to turn up Sammy's monitor as loud as it would go. She felt warmer under the covers, but not any better. She glanced at the clock.

10:15

One hours and 45 minutes left.

* * *

Mary awoke, heart-pounding, to a strange sound. Her eyes snapped open but she stayed still, mind already remembering what was happening.

How could she have fallen asleep?

A four year old and a six month old. THAT'S how.

She was exhausted.

But she was awake now, her body tense and alert for the noise that had startled her from slumber.

It was coming from Sammy's monitor. He was crying.

Just a little bit, a few little squeaks and sniffles. That was normal. He still sometimes woke up for a midnight snack, much to her annoyance. John had lately been taking the shifts for her, bless him, but a quick move of her arm told her that his side of the bed was still cold.

Fell asleep in front of the TV again. She was sure of it.

But Sammy's cries weren't what woke her.

Static.

Weird static noises.

She moved her head ever so slightly to glance at the open doorway into the hall. As she lay still, she faintly saw the nightlight flickering in the near darkness.

Her heart pounded louder and tears filled her eyes as she caught a very faint, but very present smell of sulfur in the air.

Another slight tilt of her head told her that she had not slept long enough.

11:30

Sammy continued to make a few whimpering noises and she felt the tears roll down the sides of her face as she lay perfectly still, not daring to move. Her hands ached to rush in and comfort her child…her baby. She pictured his little face as she and Dean had told him goodnight. She pictured his room with the mobile above his bed, his nightlight, and toys decorating the shelves. She could see him crying, fussing, wondering where his mother was and why she wasn't coming.

A little chocked sob escaped from her mouth and her hand flew up to silence it. The tears were a steady stream now, even as she head Sammy's cries dim, she could not stop. Her mind flew over to Dean, blissfully asleep in his bed. He would know. He would know if…_something_ came into his room. He would scream for her. He would tell her.

Maybe he already did.

She closed her eyes and pictured the stranger from all those years ago. His green eyes shining with tears as he begged her to remember, to not get out of bed. His forced smile though the tears as he turned away to leave.

She saw Dean's little green eyes, overflowing with tears last week as he cried from a skinned knee at T-ball practice.

"_Promise me you won't get out of bed."_

Even as a hunter who had seen too much in her young life….it was an insane thought, impossible. But as she laid there, paralyzed with fear in the darkness, she could not stop thinking.

"_Promise me."_

She had promised. She had promised Dean. Whether it was her Dean or anyone else's Dean….he had a mother too. She had promised.

With her hand still covering her mouth, tears still streaming down her face, her eyes moved slightly to the clock.

11:45

Sammy's monitor was quiet now, the light in the hallway stable and still. She was still cold, but she doubted that was going to go away any time soon.

Mary found herself holding her breath, waiting for something, anything to happen.

Even as the clock switched from 11:59 to 12:00, she still lay there, crying, trying not to breathe.

Finally, at 12:15, she heard a noise from downstairs that she recognized as John moving around to turn the TV off and come up to bed. Her mind and body both seemed to snap out of their paralysis and she threw herself out of bed and raced into Sammy's room, the tears still falling as she saw….nothing.

The small nightlight illuminated her sleeping baby boy as she walked up to his crib, hoping her pounding heart and gasping breaths would not wake him again.

He was fine. The room was just as she left it, not a thing out of place. With a trained eye, she skimmed the entire room and her baby before reaching down to kiss his forehead and reassure herself once and for all that he was perfectly fine.

She heard John come up the stairs and hesitate in the doorway.

"Alright?" He asked softly, probably questioning if it was his turn to feed Sammy.

Mary turned to him, trying to wipe the evidence of crying off her face and whispered, "Fine, just checking him."

Either John was too tired to notice or there wasn't enough light for him to tell how much and how long she had been crying. He blew her a quick kiss and shuffled back into their bedroom.

With one last glance at Sam, Mary quietly moved from his room over to Dean's.

Dean was a lighter sleeper, so she was even more cautious with her movements, her eyes once again scanning the perfectly normal room, not daring to hope that nothing was wrong in here either.

Her eyes fell on the small angel statue that she had gotten for Dean just months before he was born. Dean liked having it on the shelf right above his bed, "so that the angels can watch over me better", as he liked to explain.

Seeing the statue seemed to be the final straw in calming her racing heart and she almost felt back to normal as she slowly and carefully bent over to kiss Dean softly on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Love," she whispered softly, her breath on his neck as she stayed still for a moment, watching him sleep. She felt the tears coming again, this time not out of fear but out of relief.

Carefully, Mary walked back to the hallway, closing Dean's door and leaning against it for a moment, letting herself silently cry for all that had just happened…and all that hadn't happened.

Minutes later, she finally got herself back into her own bed and she scooted closer to John's warm presence beside her. She felt her breathing finally slow, matching pace with his and she brought up his arm around her, wanting to feel protected in his embrace. She could hear Sammy's breathing through the monitor and pictured Dean, asleep in his bed with the Angel watching over him. One last tear rolled down her face as she silently said a prayer of thanks to whatever Angel had been watching over her family that night…and all those years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n: I have just a few short months before grad school will be overtaking my life and this story will be pushed to the bottom of my priority list. That being said, I'm trying to crank out the ideas as fast as I get them. This was originally just a one shot, but my mind wouldn't stop working...and Shelby kept wanting me to write the thing so here I am trying to write the thing. This chapter had 3 or 4 rewrites just in the past 24 hours.__ No guarantees on quality, I'm just having fun. Take it or leave it._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"_Dean! Baby, baby you gotta look at me now okay. That's it, look right at me, baby. Are you listening? Dean, I need you to watch after Sammy. I know, Baby, I don't- I need you to do this for me okay. I have to go back in the house and help your father. Dean! Dean, stay with me. Look right at me, Dean, that's it. Sammy's right here. You are both safe, but your dad is in that house and I have to go help him, so I need you to stay here and keep Sammy safe. Can do that for me, Dean? Stay here, don't follow me in. I need you both to stay here. Baby, please just - here, here take this. Take this and if you see anything, _anything_ coming out of that house, you throw that on them, do you hear me? Throw that at them and then you take your brother and run as fast as you can to the church. You remember where the church is, don't you, Baby? Run to the church and don't look back. Dean?...Dean!?"_

"DEAN!"

Dean Winchester cracked one eye open, cursing the sunlight and his idiot baby brother for disturbing his precious sleep.

"Dean, Mom says if you're not downstairs in 5 minutes, you won't like the consequences!"

When was his voice going to change? Still sounded like a friggin' 8-year-old.

Ignoring Sammy's warning, Dean pulled a pillow on top of his head and turned away from the doorway.

He had almost managed to fall back asleep when his bedroom door burst open, a frigid stream of water shot into his bed, immediately starting to soak through his blankets.

"SAMMY!" Dean vaulted out of bed, scrambling through the door, tripping over his waterlogged blankets as he tried to catch his laughing brother who had quickly darted away, stopping only momentarily to again shoot Dean in the face with his water gun.

"MOM! SAM'S USING THE SUPER SOAKER INSIDE THE HOUSE!"

"DEAN DIDN'T GET UP AND YOU SAID-"

"BOYS I'M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THIS!"

Ignoring his mother's second warning, Dean caught up to Sammy and grabbed him in a headlock, ripping the gun out of his hands.

The scuffle was short and sweet. Sam always fought valiantly, but Dean was still the big brother, at least a foot taller and more muscular. Sam's only defense was his speed at getting away, but he had sacrificed that for one last shot at Dean with the super soaker.

Dean finalized the match by dumping Sammy unceremoniously into the tub and flipping the shower on.

Ignoring Sammy's cries of outrage, Dean headed back to his room to get ready for school.

* * *

Mary handed the second bagged lunch to Dean, Sammy already racing out of the house. Dean turned away immediately to head out but Mary caught his shoulder, spinning him back around towards her.

"Hey," she said softly, bringing his head down so that she could kiss his cheek. She ached a bit at the thought that he was already taller than her. "Have a good day."

Dean gave her a small, forced smile. "Thanks, Mom."

She kept her hand on his shoulder, until he looked at her again.

"Maybe you'll like it here," she said softly.

"Maybe." Again, it wasn't a very positive reply.

"And look out for Sammy."

"I will." That response had been firm an absolute. New school, new town, new house…Dean didn't like the changes, but through it all, Sammy came first for him.

Even when he'd shot him with a super soaker only half an hour earlier.

Mary finally dropped her hand and added, "Love you," as Dean turned again to leave.

"Love you, too," Dean said half-heartedly, already out the door.

Well…he _was_ 16. At least he had said it, even if it didn't sound very convincing.

* * *

Their walk was relatively short. Mom had been lucky enough to find a house close to the Secondary School.

"You got your schedule?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean."

"Alright, I'll probably have a different lunch than you, but we'll meet right back out here after school alright?"

"Right."

"You want me to walk you to your first class?"

"I'm not a baby, Dean! I can go myself."

Dean felt his lips twitch a bit. It wasn't for Sammy's sake that he had wanted to walk him to class.

"Fine, knock 'em dead, kid." He tried to be nonchalant about the whole thing, slapping Sammy on the back and walking off into the school. As soon as he turned the corner, though, he stopped, easing his head back around so that he could watch Sammy walk off in the opposite direction towards the 7th grade hallway.

He fought the urge to follow him.

When Sammy finally turned a corner and was out of site, Dean took a deep breath, put on his most charming smile and found the cutest girl to follow to class.

* * *

Mary held the two objects in her hands, weighing them thoughtfully as she contemplated her next step.

Devils trap on the floor or on the backside of the rug?

Hating that she even had to consider it, she opted for the easier option of putting it on the backside of the entryway rug. Less of a chance for neighbors or friends to accidentally see it and start asking questions.

That is, if they stayed here long enough to make friends…or meet their neighbors.

As she started maneuvering the rug over and shaking up the spray paint, her thoughts turned to her boys.

First day of school…again.

She hated it.

She hated having to uproot them so much, dragging them around as they ran from….what?

Honestly, Mary didn't know. She knew it had something to do with the yellow-eyed demon. She knew that from his grand reappearance in her life only six years ago. Their lives being completely and utterly turned around as their home was destroyed….and John along with it.

It had been four years and she could still taste the ash of the fire as she tried to save him. She could still see Dean's scared, wide eyes as he watched her run back into the burning house. She could hear Sammy's sniffles as they sat on the curb, police lights and fire trucks zooming around them.

She could still feel John's hand clinging to her desperately, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to pull himself from the grip of the demon.

The memories still shook her, but she forced her hands to stay steady as she finished the devil's trap, letting it dry for a moment before painting over it a second time just to be sure.

Since that day, Mary had been running from her past. She had heard the expression before, but she never thought to take it so literally. The yellow-eyed demon had left after killing John, but every few months, he made sure that she saw him again. A brush of movement in the grocery store, a shadow outside her son's window, a flash of yellow appearing in the eyes of the school principal. It was always just enough to let her know that he was still there. Still watching her and her family….at least what remained of it.

So Mary ran. She kept her boys close and she ran.

Her father would be outraged at the though. Campbells do _not_ run. They stand and fight.

But Mary didn't want to fight. She had sworn to herself…never again.

She often thought of her family, not her deceased parents, but her extended family: cousins, aunts and uncles. They would stand and fight. They would be the hunters…not the hunted. They would dig into the research, comb through the mythology, contact other hunters….they would figure out the whys and they would deal with the situation.

Mary didn't want to know why. She didn't want to know anything.

So she kept running, desperate to keep her boys safe. Desperate to keep them out of the life that she swore they would never experience.

She had made a few concessions. Sam and Dean both knew how to draw a devil's trap. They knew the uses of holy water and salt, even if they didn't fully understand the whys. Mary had even caught Dean going through John's old hunting supplies, working out how to load a gun and trying to sharpen knives.

Dean had always figured out more than she had wanted him to.

Sammy, thankfully, remained optimistically ignorant. Since she kept the boys going to church, they knew the basics of demons and angels and that one was better than the other. She had used Pastor Jim's sermon about demons and hellfire to instruct Sammy on the basics of holy water and salt. It actually seemed to comfort him a bit. Sam didn't remember much about the night that John died.

Mary knew that Dean still remembered everything.

Leaving the rug to dry, Mary headed out for her lunch shift at the nearby diner, the only job she had managed to secure in this town so far. Hopefully by the end of the week she could find a teaching job, or at least get more shifts. After six years of bouncing from job to job, their savings were running out.

Turns out, their time was running out as well.

* * *

Sammy was quiet on the walk home, which was unusual. Dean was used to the energetic Sammy, the I-love-to-learn Sammy. But he had barely muttered two words to Dean since they met up after the last bell of the day.

"What's up, short-stop?" Dean finally questioned him.

Dean saw Sam scowl at the nick name. Maybe he was getting a little old for the pet names, but that didn't mean Dean would stop.

"Seriously, man. When are you gonna start talkin' my ear off about school?" He hesitated briefly. "Did something happen?"

He could just picture Sammy rolling his eyes at the implied "big-brother" tone in his voice.

"Everything's fine, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips but dropped the subject. Sammy was almost a teenager now. And he was in seventh grade. Dean hated seventh grade. There were always lots of things Dean never wanted to talk about that happened in seventh grade.

"Mom says we'll probably be here a while."

"Uh-huh." Sammy didn't sound convinced.

"You could try to make friends here."

"Sure."

"I'm just sayin', I know seventh grade sucks, bud."

"Yeah."

Frowning, Dean dropped the conversation entirely. If Sam was down to one-word responses, Dean wasn't going to get much out of him. Maybe he'd talk more about it tonight.

The turned a corner, their new house coming into view. It was a small, simple, two-level townhouse. Dean had no idea how their mom had been able to afford one with three bedrooms, but she probably knew the consequences of putting him and Sam in a bedroom together would not be pretty. It wasn't exactly the high-end of town, but it was nice enough.

Dean worried a lot about money. Ever since John died, they'd moved around a lot and their mom had worked hard to make sure she could still provide for them. Even so, as soon as he was old enough, Dean started finding after-school work. Anything that could help ease the pressure off his mom. He knew he couldn't make much, but he always gave her what he got.

Sammy had already asked Dean when he would be old enough to start working, but Dean always changed the subject. Sam was a bright kid. He devoured books like Dean devoured his mom's apple pie. The last thing Dean wanted was Sam to start doing poorly in school because he was too tired from working.

As they pushed open the front door of the house, Dean saw that the entry-way rug had been turned over, a "devil's trap" symbol painted on the back of it. Mom must have left it drying when she went to work.

"Is she gonna do this to every rug we get?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes and heading for the kitchen.

Dean kept his mouth shut, reaching down to turn the rug back over and re-position it in front of the doorway.

He'd picked up a lot of things in the past few years.

While his mother had jokingly taught them how to draw a "devil's trap", and repeated the holy water blessing ritual so many times that they both couldn't help but memorize it, Dean had gone to the library and taught himself a few things. He knew it wasn't a joke. He remembered the night his dad had died. The man that had broken into their home and attacked his parents. The fire and his parent's screams. He remembered yellow eyes and Sammy crying for help. He remembered trying to be brave as his mother left him and Sam with a _bottle of water _and rushed back inside a burning house to try and save Dad.

The door clicked open behind him and Mary walked in, stopping short at seeing him fix the rug. She opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and closed it again. Reaching around to close the door behind her, she said calmly, "How was school today?"

"Fine," Dean answered shortly, dropping his backpack onto the couch and following Sammy into the kitchen. While he never wanted to be the typical, angst-ridden teenager, Dean's temper always flared when he knew his mother was hiding things from him.

And she was always hiding a lot of things from him.

He grabbed a chip out of the bag Sammy was munching from, and went to peruse the fridge.

"Hey! How was school today?" Mom's voice was bright and chipper as she came into the kitchen, walking over to Sammy and kissing the top of his head.

"Fine," Sam replied, unintentionally echoing Dean's earlier reply.

"Sounds like a great school," Mom said sarcastically, dropping a bag of groceries on the counter and starting to put them away.

"What can we say?" Dean's voice matched her sarcastic level. "South Dakota is just full of excitement."

As he closed the fridge, unsuccessful at finding anything he wanted, his mother shot him a disapproving look. "Can we please give it a few more days before we start hating it?"

"'_We' _can," Dean mocked, reaching over to grab the box of Twinkies she had just pulled out. Mom lightly smacked his hand away. Sammy laughed, which made mom turn around and pull the bag of chips away from him.

"Moooom!" both boys wined.

"Dinner's in an hour," she said shortly, shooing them out of the kitchen. "You won't starve in an hour."

"I might," Sammy pouted, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder and hurrying up the stairs.

Dean grabbed his bag but turned back around towards the kitchen, his mother still standing in the doorway.

"What'd you do today?" He pointedly glanced at the rug.

"A bit more unpacking…settling in." She dodged his real question.

Dean didn't move, refusing to look away from her.

"I finally found the box with the picture frames in it. You and Sammy can help me hang them tonigh-"

"Mom," Dean sighed.

She pressed her mouth into a thin line and closed her eyes briefly.

Finally, Dean just went for it.

"Are you ever gonna tell me what's going on?"

She paid him the compliment of not making him spell it out for her. They both knew what he was talking about. It was the same conversation they had every time they moved. Heck, it was a conversation they probably had at least once a week.

"Go see if your brother needs help with his homework."

"Mom-"

"Go, Dean."

"Sammy's been getting better grades than me for years now. He doesn't want my help with-"

"Dean, please." Her voice was a bit shaky and she was now refusing to look at him.

Dean loved his mother. He really did. He would do anything for her.

But six years was a long time.

"It's gonna come out sooner or later, Mom," Dean felt his voice rising, "Sammy's gonna figure it out, or he's gonna remember something, or another demon is going to turn up at our house!"

"Dean!" His mother looked up at him, shocked.

"What is it going to take for you to just tell me?" He pleaded, dropping his voice and stepping closer to her incase Sammy had heard the noise from upstairs. "It was a demon, wasn't it? That's what killed dad. That's why we have the symbols and the holy water and-"

"Dean!" Her voice was sharp and reproachful now, eyes blazing, making him feel shamed as only a mother could.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, but he didn't move or look away.

Finally, her face softened a bit and she sighed. "Baby, I know you want to know, I know you want to help-"

"Then_ let_ me help," Dean pleaded.

She shook her head. "You have no idea what you're getting into."

Dean snorted, thinking of all the time he voluntarily spent in the library over the past few years. "You might be surprised."

He thought that might make her smile, but it had just the opposite effect. Her eyes hardened on him again. "Stay away from it, Dean."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop digging into it."

"Says who?"

"Says me! Your mother."

"What, you're ordering me?"

"Maybe I am!"

Both their voices had risen and they glared at each other. Dean had almost forgotten that he had inherited his stubbornness from the maternal side of his family.

A creak behind Dean sent them both whirling around to face Sammy, who had crept down the stairs and was watching them both with acute interest.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing!" the both snapped. Dean let out a huff and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder, steering the curious Sam back up the stairs while Mary, though flustered, tried to look like she was fixing dinner.

Typical evening in the Winchester household.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Dean hadn't even wanted to go back downstairs for the rest of the evening, but his mom had tempted him with the smell of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Sammy was still a bit suspicious, but he too had forgone annoying Dean with endless questions for deep fried happiness.

Mary, on the other hand, acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She enthusiastically questioned both of them more about school, about their classes, teachers and peers. Dean was surprised that Sam still wasn't opening up very much about his day. Though he did admit to falling asleep briefly in his first class, Sam was tight-lipped about the whole rest of the day and complained he had a headache so he could be the first one to leave the dinner table.

Not wanting to just sit there awkwardly with his mom, who he was still a bit angry at, Dean grabbed his and Sam's plates and took them to the sink, starting the dishes.

The doorbell rang.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at his mother, who was looking at the front door with a frown.

"Expecting someone?" Dean asked.

She shook her head. "Don't know enough people to be expecting anyone yet." Glancing back at him, she tried for an encouraging smile. "Probably a salesman. I'll get it and then come help you with the dishes."

As she moved towards the front door, Dean started clearing the remaining food off the table. He heard the door open and a few pleasantries were exchanged. Sounded like a religious salesman.

Then, the glass he was holding slipped from his hands as he heard his mother scream.

* * *

_a/n: Writing teenage Dean and Sam is harder than I thought it would be. There's always a pull to make Sammy much younger than Dean, but in reality, he's only four years younger. I tried to write a convincing 12-year-old and 16-year-old. but apologies if it didn't work. There will be another age jump in a few chapters so hopefully I won't have to write them at this age very long._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Dean raced around the corner, ignoring the broken shards of glass on the floor, and skidded to a stop, heart pounding at what he saw.

A middle-aged man in a cheap business suit stood in the doorway, a fallen stack of bibles at the ground near where his feet stood carefully off of the door mat. His arms gripped tight around Mary, one firm around her neck and the other holding her arms behind her back.

He was smiling at Dean.

His eyes were _yellow_.

Mary seemed to panic even more when she saw Dean.

"Dean! NO-"

The man tightened his grip on her, cutting off her words and Dean's face paled. He felt his mind race, trying to remember the things he was supposed to remember, but unable to react at all to the horrifying scene in front of him.

"Dean…so good to finally meet you." The man's voice was oily. His smile made Dean feel dirty.

"Let. Her. Go." Dean gritted his teeth, hating himself for not grabbing the holy water from the cupboard in the kitchen. He had nothing, _nothing_ to defend himself or his mother.

The man seemed to read his thoughts and frowned, as if disappointed. "Oh Dean, I expected more, really. What _has_ she been teaching you all these years?"

With a flick of his hand, he sent Dean flying into the wall. The impact made him see stars and when he got his breath back he realized he couldn't move. His whole body seemed to be pinned to the wall by an invisible force

Mary screamed out his name again and Dean saw her struggle once more to get out of the demon's grasp.

"Where's little Sammy, Mary? Are you hiding him from me?"

Dean panicked at the thought. But before another word could be spoken, a voice called out from the stairs.

"I'm right here!"

All three of them looked over to the stairway just in time to see Sam, his super soaker in his hands, pointed directly at the man who held his mother.

"Sammy! NO-" This time it was Dean who shouted, but stopped short as Sam fired the water gun, spraying the demon and his mother with water.

Before Dean could even think, the man screamed, dropping Mary and stumbling back out the doorway, his body seeming to smoke and sizzle at the contact of the water. Mary and Dean both fell to the floor and Sam fired again at the demon. Dean ran over to help his mother up and saw that the demon seemed to be recovering from the holy water, eyes blazing as he stood up, moving towards the doorway again.

The water seemed to have revived Mary, because she quickly stepped in front of Dean, blocking the doorway and began muttering in what Dean thought was Latin. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ _omnis satanica potestas-"_

At her words the demon stopped and jerked a bit, a look of hatred on his face.

"-_omnis incursion_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio-"_

The demon screeched at her, as if trying to drown out the words, and then threw his head back, a column of black smoke shooting out of his mouth and flying up into the air.

It seemed to take forever.

The lights in the house flickered and the ground seemed to shake. Dean held tightly onto his mother, who had stopped the chanting, and reached back with his other hand to grab onto Sammy who had rushed up behind him. All three of them watched as the smoke finally disappeared, the noise stopping abruptly as the man collapsed onto the sidewalk, not a sign of life in him.

The lights all blazed back to their normal levels, the air turned deathly quiet except for a few shouts from neighboring houses, who sounded like they were already calling 911. Dean couldn't seem to breathe correctly and Sammy was just as frozen behind him, both of them staring at the fallen man with wide, horrified eyes.

Mary slowly turned to face them and Dean saw a few tears falling down her face. She kept a hold of his arm that was still gripping her tightly around the waist, and he felt her shaking.

She still didn't say anything, so Dean finally spoke.

"Now…_now_ are you gonna tell us what the hell is going on?"

* * *

"Drugs? Really? That's what you're going with?"

"You got any better ideas?"

Dean rolled his eyes at the officers questioning one another. Their house seemed to be filled to the brim with emergency personnel, all of them scratching their heads at the events that had been reported that night.

It was stupid that the police had come at all, but he guessed that's what happens when you have nosy neighbors and a demon shows up on your doorstep and gets chased away by your kid brother with a water gun.

The popular theory at the moment was that the guy (who was currently still unconscious in the back of the ambulance outside) had been high on something, though Dean doubted there was anything on the black, white, or rainbow colored market that could pull any of that shit he just saw. But what could they say? Mary had warned them quickly, before the sirens made it to the house, that any mention of the supernatural would be laughed off and discarded for crazy. So all three of them kept their mouth shut and told the truth - minus the whole speaking in Latin and the black-smoke stuff, and pinning Dean up against a wall with a magical force field, which was one of the first things he would be questioning his mother about when all of these people decided to leave. them. alone.

He adjusted the ice pack on the back of his head that his mother had insisted on giving him, and glanced over to check on Sam.

Super soaker still sitting on his lap, Sam sat on a corner of the couch, gazing off at nothing and apparently oblivious to the officer who was trying to talk to him.

Mary, on the other hand, was still arguing with one of the officers, trying to assure them all that everything was fine and that they could leave.

"You want me to look that over for you, son?"

Dean turned his head up to see an emergency paramedic standing next to him, motioning with his hands to Dean's battered head.

"I'm fine, thanks." Dean tried to be polite, but he wanted these people out of his house just as much as his mother did.

He escaped more interrogation by walking over to sit next to Sammy, shooing the officer away who had been questioning him and slinging a protective arm around his little brother who, surprisingly, didn't shove it away.

"That was a good move with the, uh, super soaker." Dean tried to smile as he praised Sammy.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, still not looking at him.

"Where'd you get all the holy water?"

Finally turning to look at him, Sam simply said, "I was prepared."

Dean frowned. Prepared? What had he been prepared for? Did he know something was going to happen? Or did he always fill the guns with holy water?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Sam mumbled, turning away again to continue staring at the wall.

"Trust me, kid. After tonight, I'm willing to believe a lot more than I used to."

That got a half breathy chuckle out of Sam but he didn't turn back to look at Dean, which Dean took as an end to the conversation. Sam probably didn't want to talk around all these cops. Dean didn't blame him.

Neither one of them said anything else until a half hour later when their mother had finally managed to clear out the house.

Dean watched her with narrow eyes as she closed the door behind the last man, locked the handle and the deadlock, rearranged the mat in front of the door and then disappeared back into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a large bag of…rock salt? and began systematically pouring a line of it in front of the doorway. They both watched her as she moved from the doorway to the windows, spreading the salt in thick lines in front of every door and window in the house, disappearing upstairs for a few minutes and then coming back down with a nearly empty bag that she sat next to the door with a final sounding _thud._

"The salt helps repel the demons," Mary explained, as if this was an everyday occurrence for them, and she came to sit across from them on a padded chair.

"Yeah, you've told us that before," Sammy finally spoke, his words lifeless and flat. Dean frowned and looked down at him, not having realized how mad he was.

Mary looked heartbroken at Sam's tone and she turned her eyes down. "What do you want to know?"

Sam looked up at Dean, his face blank. Dean clenched his jaw and looked back at their mom.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know his name."

"But it was a demon."

"Yes."

Dean was surprised how good it felt to hear his mom actually admit it.

"Was that the demon that killed Dad?"

Her bottom lip quivered a bit. "Yes."

Sam whipped up his head to glare at Mary. "I knew it. I _knew _it was a demon!"

"Sam-"

"She's been hiding all of this from us, Dean!"

"Sam!"

"What else are you hiding, Mom!?" Sam's voice rose and he started to sound much older than his 12-year-old self. Apparently, he also had figured out a lot more over the years than they thought. "We're not little kids anymore!"

"Sammy, stop!" Dean put all the parental force he could into the words and thankfully Sam felt it. Huffing, he crossed his arms and slid back down into the couch, going into "teenage-pout" mode. Dean wished he could do the same thing. He felt the betrayal just as hard as Sam, maybe even more so, but he wanted answers more than he wanted to yell about it.

Turning back to Mary, he tried to think of the most important things to ask first.

"Why was he here? Why did he kill dad?"

Mom closed her eyes briefly, as if gearing herself up. "Honestly…I'm not sure."

"You're not _sure_?"

"It's not like demons are going to send you a postcard about why they are destroying your lives, Dean. They're demons, it's what they do." She sounded exasperated but Dean wasn't giving in.

"But this is the _same_ demon. This one guy has tracked us over, what? Six years now? He's what's been following us, right? Why we move so much?"

"Yes, but I don't know why!" She actually sounded a bit more convincing, but Dean knew that if he didn't get the whole truth out of her now, he might not get another chance before the demon turned up again…and who knows who would die next time.

"Mom, you have got to know _something_!" he argued. "This guy acted like he knew me. He asked about Sam. He _knows_ us, Mom. He wants something from us and either we've got to give it to him or find a way to get him to leave us the hell alone!"

Mary was starting to cry now, tears running silently down her face that she tried to blink away. Her hand came up to hide her them and Dean saw her shoulders bob a few times.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she said, sniffing and raising her head to look at both of them. "It wasn't…I wanted…." She let out a shaky sigh and looked Dean in the eyes. "Everything I've done has been to protect you. To protect both of you," she added, looking over at Sammy too, who was still refusing to look at her.

"No offence, Mom, but tonight wasn't exactly the best example of protecting us," Sammy said sarcastically.

"Dude, I'm gonna smack you upside the head of you keep talking like that," Dean scolded.

"No, he's right," Mom said, wiping away her tears and standing up. Dean stood up with her, not wanting her to leave. She tried to smile at him. "Don't worry, I'm not- I'll be right back. I just have to go grab something from my room."

* * *

It was hard to find the words to say after your mother tells you that she grew up fighting demons and monsters for most of her life.

"I'm sorry," Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring Sammy's excited noises as he searched through the box that mom had brought downstairs, "you're telling me that all this stuff is actually real?"

He gestured to the books she had shown them; the pictures of spirits, demons, werewolves,_ freakin' vampires_.

"And you, _you,_ our mother, who makes _me_ kill the spiders in the house…you _hunted_ it?"

Mary made a little worried noise in her throat and reached over quickly to grab something Sammy had just pulled out of the box. "Sammy, careful with that!" She set the thing, which looked like a shortened hunting shotgun, to the side of her chair where Sammy couldn't reach it. Unperturbed, Sammy immediately reached back into the box and pulled out a box of little bags that looked like different kinds of spices.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Mary said, responding to Dean's question, "But this was like a whole different life for me. I was very….very different."

Dean huffed. "Obviously."

"Are these real bones?" Sam asked, holding up another, smaller box he had found that had, yep, those were definitely little bones inside.

"Yes," Mary said quickly, then turned back to Dean. "Look, Dean, I didn't have a choice about it, alright. My father…your grandfather was a hunter. Our whole family line were hunters. It was just the way things were."

"How come you stopped hunting?" Dean asked, reaching over to grab a large knife away from Sammy who had just discovered it in the box.

"It's a long story, but the fact is that I never wanted to be a hunter. I always planned to stop. To find someone who would take me away from that life." She paused. "I hated it."

Dean, who had been studying the intricate carvings on the knife, looked up at her curiously. "Why?"

Mom huffed out a little laugh. "Did you already forget what happened here tonight?" She motioned to the front door, the doormat meticulously placed and the salt line unbroken. "It's dangerous, Dean. It's putting your life on the line all the time. Putting your _family's_ life on the line. I-I couldn't do that to my family."

Dean looked thoughtfully at her. "So you found Dad."

Mary nodded, a real smile creeping on her face for the first time that night. "He was so perfectly ordinary. And he…he adored me." She sighed. "I knew he'd get me away."

"Is this grandpa?"

They both looked over to Sam, who was holding up a picture from the box. Dean squinted and saw a little girl holding an oversized shotgun, an older man behind her, helping her aim. The picture was faded a bit, but Dean knew Sam was right.

"Yeah, Baby," Mary said softly. "That's your grandpa Samuel. He was…That's when he taught me how to shoot for the first time."

"You look so young," Dean said softly.

Nodding, Mary took the picture from Sam. "I was only 8 years old."

Dean had a sudden flash Sam, earlier that evening, facing down a demon with a friggin' water gun. The image morphed into an 8-year-old Sammy with a real gun….facing down who-knows-what.

A little shiver ran through him as he started to understand more about his mom's choices in keeping them out of that life.

"I never want to lie to you boys, I just…I wanted to keep you safe." She looked seriously at Dean again. "I wanted to keep you safe."

Dean rubbed at his eyes, trying to hide how much this was shaking him. "So, okay. So this demon, the one with the yellow eyes. What _do_ you know about him?"

"Not a lot, I…" she hesitated. "The first time I saw him was 22 years ago."

His eyes widened. "22 years? Holy crap, Mom! This guy has been after you for 22 years!?"

She held up her hands in defense. "No it wasn't- it didn't start like that. It was just another job. I was helping my dad, trying to track a demon in town. Another hunter joined us. He…." She trailed off, looking thoughtful. "He was from out of town."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And we found out it was some kind of crossroads demon."

"Please elaborate for the children in the room," Dean said sarcastically. He had done his research, but this was a whole new ballgame he felt himself thrown into.

"A demon who makes deals. They will do you a favor for….a price."

"What kind of price?"

"Usually your soul."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wish I was."

Dean glanced over at Sammy who was actually listening to this part of the conversation, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"So this Yellow Eyes is a crossroads demon?"

Mary shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, he was making deals but they were…different. He wasn't asking for the normal price."

"What was he asking for?"

She hesitated again. "All he told me was that he would be coming back in ten years for something. Not," she added, seeing Dean open his mouth, "my soul. He swore no one would get hurt as long as he wasn't _disturbed_."

"Well, _I'm_ disturbed," Dean said, sitting back with a disgusted look on his face. "What the hell kind of deal is that? You don't even know what you're getting in to."

"It's the kind of deal you make when you're desperate," Mary's voice was bitter now and Dean frowned at her word choice.

"Wait, you said that he told _you_….Mom, _you_ made a deal with him?"

She raised a warning finger, "You weren't there, Dean. You don't know what I went through."

"Then tell me what happened!"

"I lost everything, that's what happened." Mary dropped the photo back into the box and shoved it away. "He possessed my father, killed my mother and killed….he killed John."

Dean's eyes widened. "How could he have killed Dad 22 years ago if-"

"I made the deal," Mary said, with her teeth gritted. "I made the deal to bring John back."

Both boys were silent. Mary took another deep breath, as if steeling herself for the onslaught of accusations.

When neither Dean nor Sam seemed willing to say anything, she spoke up again.

"I had just lost the three most important people in my life. The_ only_ people in my life that mattered, and he was going to let me have one…I chose John."

There was silence again, this time broken by Dean, who tried to keep his voice steady.

"Ten years later."

"What?'

"What happened ten years later? That was the deal right?"

Mary looked confused for a moment. "Nothing…nothing happened, I-" she cut herself off, eyes looking away as if memories were coming back to her. But just a quickly, she shook her head. "I never saw him again until he showed up and killed your father, and that was 16 years later, not ten."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. She never was a very good liar.

Sammy spoke up before Dean could. "Well, then everything must have happened as planned right? He did say that no one was going to get hurt if he wasn't disturbed and obviously…no one disturbed him so whatever he wanted to have happen must have…happened."

Following Sammy's trains of thought wasn't always easy, but Dean got the point. He also thought of a different point.

"But," Dean added, "If he got what he came for after the ten years then why did he come back and kill Dad and…" he turned to face his mother, "Why is he still chasing you?"

* * *

_a/n: I realize there are still a LOT of things that Mary is not telling them, but not everything can come out at once, where's the fun in that? This conversation still took up WAY more time than I thought it was going to. I had expected to get to a few more things in this chapter but, alas, it was not meant to be. But that just means that I already have a nice outline for the next chapter so yay. I hope you all are picking up on some plot points that I'm not specifically spelling out, but if you're not, no worries. That just means more surprises for you, lol. The updates will slow down after today. I had work off today and yesterday, so I tried to write as much as I could, but now the real world is back. Hope you all will stick with me! Thanks for the great reviews so far, I love to hear from you!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was a decidedly lazy morning in the Winchester household.

Sipping at her coffee, Mary listened carefully again for any signs of life from the bedrooms upstairs.

Silent as the grave.

She had done the completely irresponsible thing and let her sons sleep in, thereby skipping school and placing her into the "overly indulgent mother" category. Though, considering the events of the night before, she figured she owed them something.

Opening the paper, she perused through the morning headlines, trying not to relive all that had happened in the past 12 hours. Trying not the think about how, as soon as they woke up, her boy's lives would forever be irrevocably different.

As she had fallen asleep last night, she cried once again for their lost innocence…something she could never give back to them.

Of course they would comfort her, assuring her that it was better that they knew. Assuring her that they could "fix" it for her.

Dean had used that word a few times last night. "Fix".

Mary had lived long enough to know that there was no magic in that word.

A sharp, official sounding knock at the door almost startled her enough to spill her coffee. Thankfully only a drop or two jumped onto the newspaper and Mary glared with annoyance towards the front door and then over to the clock.

10 am.

She didn't have to be to her work shift for another hour. There was no reason anyone needed to be knocking on her door.

Though, she mused as she headed over to answer it, by the harshness of the knock, she would bet that some form of law enforcement was standing on her doorstep.

Sure enough, she opened the door to reveal a slightly scruffy-looking older man dressed in a cheap-looking suit, already reaching into his breast pocket.

The movement made her tense for a moment and she was careful not to step over the doormat that was between them.

The man, however, turned out to be all charm.

"Apologies, Ma'am," he had a slight drawl to his voice, signifying that he was from the area, or at least a neighboring state. His eyes looked friendly enough, but Mary had been around liars long enough to know when someone was covering up something. "I'm Agent Hill of the FBI."

His hand pulled out a worn looking billfold from his breast pocket and flipped it open for her to see. She frowned at the badge, but was unable to get a detailed look at it before he stowed it back in his pocket.

Her eyes moved back to his face as he smiled apologetically at her. "So sorry to disturb your morning, but I need to ask you a few questions about the events of last night."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"We received reports of an incident here last night." She was surprised at how professional he did sound, reaching back into another pocket and pulling out a small pad of paper, flipping through a few pages before stopped on one. "Says a few neighbors called in about some shouting, something about an intruder and…" He made his face look puzzled. "Black smoke?" Looking back up at her, his face said 'don't that just beat all?'

Keeping her face suspicious, Mary didn't move an inch. "And the FBI is investigating a simple domestic dispute because…?"

"Well, since we had agents in the area, we're helping on a drugs-bust case that's, well frankly it's a weird one." He kept his tone light, suggesting that he didn't believe a thing he was saying and was just following orders. "The reports from your incident seem to match a few others in the area, and we're just trying to put all the pieces together." He ended it with a broad smile that might have worked on her if he was a bit younger or a bit older.

"Well, I appreciate your dedication Agent…Hill," she doubted that was his name. "But we don't have anything to add to the statements that we gave the police last night, so if you would just-"

"Mom? Y'alright?"

Dean seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming up behind her, still dressed in pajamas and looking suspiciously at the stranger in the doorway.

"Just fine. This is Agent Hill from the FBI and he was just leaving."

Mary looked from Dean back to the agent who frowned a bit at the appearance of Dean, as if he hadn't been expecting him. Not to be defeated, though, a card suddenly appeared in his hand and his smile returned.

"I can come back at a better time."

"Really, we don't have anything more to-"

"Ma'am," Agent Hill's voice dropped to a serious note, his eyes seemed to beg her to listen. "My only job is to help keep people safe." She could hear the sincerity of those words. "We're afraid that there's something dangerous out there and if you think of anything, _anything_ that might lead us to it…" He placed the card carefully in her hands, "please give me a call."

Dean was still silent next to her, but he had placed a hand on her arm and seemed ready to push her behind him if the man so much as breathed wrong. Mary, however, felt herself actually relax at the Agent's words, a small part of her starting to realize that this man might be exactly who she thought he was and if so, he actually _was _someone who could help.

She found herself nodding and saying a genuine "Thank you" to him, as he tipped his head towards her and Dean and started back down the walkway towards his car.

"Kind of a crappy car for an FBI agent," Dean commented as they watched him climb into the driver's seat of a clunky pick-up truck that started with more noise than John's old Chevy Impala.

Mary looked down at the business card in her hands. It was very minimal, the front only showing a small stamped insignia of the FBI, and the back containing a handwritten phone number that, if Mary remembered correctly, contained an in-state area code.

She looked up again as the man drove away, a faded sticker on his back bumper reading "I'd rather be hunting."

* * *

Against her better judgment, Mary had allowed the boys free reign over the few hunting books that she still had. She had only kept a few important things: family journals, a few first editions that had been handed down, and a way too informative book about the history of Vampires. She knew the rest of the "Campbell Family Library" was still out there somewhere. While impressing upon her the importance of carrying on the family legacy, Mary's father had taken her several times to see different family members, joining them on a hunt or for research. There was a lot of knowledge her family had gathered over the years. No matter how much she despised it, Mary found that she couldn't part with everything. The actual Campbell Family library would stay untouched…for now.

Dean ate his breakfast while leafing through an old journal from her great-grandfather who had a specialty for cursed spirits.

Sammy joined them eventually, hair tousled from sleep as he plopped beside Dean at the table, mumbling a thanks to his mom who slid a bowl of cereal over to him.

Kissing the top of his head as she smoothed his hair down, Mary did not ask how he had slept.

As she got ready to leave for work, her mind began panicking at leaving the boys home alone. Even though it was the middle of the day. Even though they had been home alone countless times before. Even though they were both more prepared than they had ever been if something were to happen.

She felt like the knowledge she had thrown at them last night had only opened them up to more danger and less safety.

"I don't want you touching the weapons while I'm gone."

"But-"

"NO, Dean." She tried to press all the firmness of "motherhood" into her voice, but part of her knew that, short of taking the box of guns and knives to work with her, Dean, at least, was going to find them and start investigating. "I mean it. Practice making holy water, learn some new protective sigils from the books, but do NOT touch the gun or the knives."

"Fine." He looked defeated but she knew he wasn't.

"_Dean_."

He blew out a very teenager-sigh of annoyance. "_Fine_."

She wasn't fully satisfied, but she had to go or she would be late and they couldn't afford for her to lose this job. She could, however, take comfort in the knowledge that while Dean might, and probably would break his promise, at least he would keep Sammy from the weapons.

All she had to do was get through this shift and get home. Then she would have a few days off and she could really start preparing them for...for whatever she could.

And maybe even start house hunting for a few states over.

She moved towards the door, but then thought of one more precaution.

Hurrying back into the kitchen, she grabbed the small business card from where she had left it on the counter.

Very deliberately, she placed it in Dean's hand.

"Mom, this guy isn't gonna-"

"He's a hunter, Dean."

Dean's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?"

"It's a common tactic," as she explained, she realized just how much her boys still didn't know. It really was a whole other world. She got an ache in her stomach again at their lost innocence. "When a hunter is trying to investigate a possible case, the easiest way to get information is to pose as someone else."

"This dude is pretending to be an FBI agent?" She could tell he wasn't buying it.

"I'm fairly certain FBI agents don't care about small matters like a house intruder," she drawled. "And he mentioned the black smoke, which everyone last night passed off as nothing. Still," she admitted, "I didn't know for sure until he gave me his card." She pointed to it in Dean's hand. "Handwritten number, no name. Probably so he can change aliases and phone numbers without printing new cards."

Dean glanced doubtfully down at the card and then back up at her. "Did _you_ ever pretend to be an FBI agent?"

"Me?" she chuckled. "No, I wasn't allowed to be that involved yet. I was always just my Dad's sidekick. But he would pose as distant family members, religious leaders, even police."

He smiled a bit at the notion and looked at the card again, flipping it over. "He's a real hunter, then?"

"I'd bet money on it." And Mary would. She might have been out of the game for a few years, but she hadn't forgotten everything. Though, her recitation of the demon exorcism last night had been a little sloppy. She still wasn't sure if it would have worked.

"And even if by some weird circumstance he really is an FBI agent, well…that's better than nothing." She looked briefly over towards the couch where Sammy was thumbing through the journal that Dean had been reading this morning. "Just in case."

Dean nodded. "Just in case."

* * *

"How do you think you say this one?"

Dean glanced over at the book Sammy was holding up to him, his finger resting on a word.

"Win-dee-go?"

Sammy took the book back to his lap, studying the word again and finally nodding. "Wendigo."

"What's that one do?"

"Some kind of cannibalistic evil spirit…" Sammy mumbled, eyes devouring the writing on the page. Dean glanced over at it again and saw a rather horrific drawing of said monster. "'Said to have once been human…cursed to wander the land, eternally seeking to fulfil their voracious appetite for human flesh'."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "This is crazy."

Sammy hummed in agreement, already absorbed back into the book. The kid was determined to learn every word from those books.

At least he hadn't realized what time it was.

Dean glanced over at the clock again, trying to be inconspicuous in his worry.

6:13.

Their mom had been due home over two hours ago.

Dean had called the diner and Glen, resident manager on shift, had told him briefly that Mary had left at her usual time and he hadn't heard from her since.

He was 5 minutes away from dragging Sammy out the door to retrace their Mom's route to and from the diner. His leg was bouncing up and down of its own accord, anxiety cutting him to the core as he tried to figure out what to do.

He and Sammy had been occupied for most of the day by the box their mother had brought out last night. They had been able to glance briefly at everything last night, but today they had been going through the objects one by one, trying to figure out what everything was and what it was for. Per his mother's wishes, Dean had been quick to pull out any type of weapon that he saw and place it on the empty top shelf of the bookcase, away from Sammy's grasp (much to Sammy's annoyance). But the books had been more than enough to satiate Sam's hunger to learn. He devoured them one by one, his mind amazingly able to actually retain the information. Dean himself had gotten hooked on a few of the journals, real stories from his ancestors about the creatures they had fought.

But Dean was the only one who noticed that Mary hadn't come home when she was supposed to.

His eyes moved from Sammy to the phone on the wall, and Dean slid a hand into his pocket, gripping tightly to the business card.

Letting out a slight hiss of frustration, Dean stood up from the couch making a bee-line for the front door.

"What are you doing?" Sammy asked suspiciously.

Dean leaned down, turning over the mat to check the devils trap and then repositioning the rug in front of the doorway.

"Mom's still not home," Dean said shortly, disappearing into the kitchen and scooping up the half-empty bag of rock salt that their mom had used last night. When he walked back into the foyer, he glanced over and saw Sammy looking at the clock worriedly.

"You think something happened to her?" Sam's voice was quiet but Dean didn't miss a beat as he started pouring a line of salt in front of the door and moving over to the windows. The salt was still there on most of them, so he just filled in any accidental holes.

"I think she should have been home two hours ago," Dean answered, trying not to clue Sammy in to how worried he was, but failing miserably.

Bottom floor windows done, Dean went to check the upstairs. He got back downstairs just in time to see Sammy peeking out one of the windows into the darkening street.

"Sammy," he said in a warning voice, depositing the bag of rock salt back into the kitchen and heading for the phone.

"What are we gonna do?"

"We're not gonna freak out…yet," he added under his breath, digging in his pocket for the business card and cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. He felt Sam come up behind him as he dialed the number.

"Who are you calling?'

"A fake FBI agent."

"Is he gonna help us?"

"That's the idea."

Dean finished dialing and slid the card back into his pocket, glancing over to give Sammy a reassuring smile.

"Yeah?" A man's voice drawled on the other end.

"Oh, ah, Mr…er I mean, Agent Hill?"

There was little bit of fumbling on the other line. Dean thought he might have heard a swear word.

"Yeah, this's Agent Hill," he finally said, his voice more akin to the man who had been standing on their front porch that morning.

"This is…my name is Dean Winchester."

Silence on the other end and then. "Winchester?"

"Yeah, you talked to my mom this morning…said we could call if we…" he fumbled on his words a bit. The man hadn't said to call him for help. He had said to call him if they had information. Dean didn't have any more information. The only information he had was…

"My mom is missing."

More silence on the other end, but Dean could hear him breathing so he knew he hadn't hung up. Dean gave him a moment to think and then continued.

"She was supposed to be home from work 2 hours ago. I called her boss and he said that she left on time and there's nowhere else she would have gone, I mean, she knew that we were home waiting for her and-"

"I'll be there in 15 minutes."

The line clicked dead.

Dean frowned and then looked at the receiver as if it had been the one to hang up on him.

"What'd he say?"

He turned to Sammy's question, trying to keep his face neutral. "He said he's coming over."

Sam turned a little white at that.

"Is….is that a good thing?"

Dean clenched his jaw, eyes flickering over to the pile of weapons on the top shelf of the bookcase.

"Hell if I know," he admitted.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Sammy had talked Dean into letting him have one of the smaller knives from the collection. Dean reminded Sammy that if this guy was a demon, a knife was going to do about as much as a toothpick. Sammy had retorted by rattling off a list of creatures that the pure-silver knife would wound. Dean had let Sammy have the knife, and he'd chosen one for himself as well.

Dean had contemplated the sawed off shotgun, taking it off the shelf and examining it carefully. His mom had told them about it last night, how the shells were full of rock salt instead of ammo, and it had been sawed off to make it more portable and easier to aim.

In the end though, Dean had settled on just a medium sized knife with a sleek black cover that he could hide carefully in the back of his jeans.

He did, however, take the shotgun off the shelf, made sure it was loaded, and placed it slightly hidden behind the kitchen doorway.

Sammy had gone and retrieved his holy-water-filled super soaker and offered a smaller one to Dean who had declined. Instead, he found a flask in Mom's box that had symbols etched all over it, and he had filled it with holy water, carefully sliding it into his back pocket.

In the middle of Sammy's argument to have a bigger knife, there was a knock on their door.

"Dean? Kid, you alright in there?"

Dean didn't relax at the sound of Agent Hill's voice. As much as he wanted to believe his mother, the fact was that the last time they had opened their door to a stranger, he had been a demon.

And, frankly, even if this guy was a hunter, Dean was still a little scared to let him in the house.

Dean pushed a whispering, protesting Sammy down onto the couch and went quickly over to the door, opening it carefully so that it wouldn't be able to disturb the salt line. He kept his hand in his back pocket.

Agent Hill stood in the doorway. At least…Dean thought it was Agent Hill. He looked completely different. He was dressed in grubby jeans and tshirt, the later covered with an open flannel shirt that looked like it had seen better days. He wore a baseball cap that had the logo of a local beer company. It also looked as if it was having a bad day.

Hill himself was looking a bit anxious and tired, almost as if he had run to their house. He opened his mouth to say something but then his eyes caught the salt line on the ground and he frowned.

"What in the…" His arm came up so suddenly that Dean, not expecting it, stumbled back as Hill pushed open the door completely, walking onto the front door mat, frowning at the salt line.

Dean immediately backed up, hands pulling out his flask of holy water and watching carefully to see if Hill would be able to walk off of the disguised Devil's Trap.

But Hill didn't try to walk away. He brought his head up, eyes glancing quickly around the room and Dean saw him pause slightly at the coffee table where their mother's box stood, full of hunting materials. He also noticed the weapons on the bookshelf and the salt lines on the windows.

Dean saw Sammy glance at him with alarm and quickly Dean flicked off the lid of the flask, splashing holy water onto the man's disbelieving face.

"Dammit, Boy!" Hill sputtered, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. "I'm the last thing y'all need to be worrying about right now."

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded. The holy water, salt and devil's trap hadn't seemed to faze him, but Dean was not about to let his guard down as he maneuvered himself between the man and Sammy.

"Well, I'm not a demon, yah idjit." Hill used his grungy flannel to mop up the remaining water on his face and, though still frowning a bit, held out his hand for Dean to shake.

"Bobby Singer. Nice ta' meet you."

* * *

_a/n: Bobby! I love me some Bobby. Couldn't resist bringing him in early to the story. Hope you all are still enjoying it. There is a reason for everything, let me assure you. I don't like those stories where NOTHING is explained and it's just mystery upon mystery, so I'm trying not to leave you in the dark about too much at a time. Please let me know if there are things I need to clear up and I'll either answer you in the next chapter or tell you that that's one of the answers you'll have to wait to get! There is a lot about Sammy that's being left unsaid, since I haven't had him narrate the story yet, but all that will be revealed...promise. Thanks to those of you who are reviewing!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Bobby?"

Bobby Singer lifted his head slightly from the book he was perusing, eyebrows raised at the young boy who stood a few feet off, hesitant in the shadows of the house.

"Somethin' wrong, kid?"

Sam Winchester walked a bit further into the room, his feet shuffling in his slightly oversized pajama pants, eyes darting around the room sporadically, still getting used to the new environment. Almost a week in Bobby's house, and the two Winchester boys were still uneasy around every corner. He couldn't really blame them. It wasn't the most kid-friendly place. Not that they were really kids. Not anymore.

When Sam didn't reply to his question, Bobby bit back his impatience and dropped the book a bit, studying the boy.

"Can't sleep?"

Hesitantly, Sam nodded, biting his lip, his eyes continuing to scan the room.

"Well, can't say the couch is very comfy, but you're welcome to try it," Bobby tried to say it nonchalantly, going back to his book and motioning to his side where the beat-up couch was. He wasn't the best with kids, but being around Sam for the past week had taught him a bit. Sam wasn't a big talker, so he wasn't really here to annoy Bobby. More likely, Sam probably wanted to pick up a book and start reading with him.

No way in hell Bobby was going to let him do that.

The kid had probably had another nightmare. He had them almost every night. Bobby could hear him toss and turn.

Never talked about them.

Sam accepted that invitation, moving over to the couch and dropping onto it, snagging a blanket off a nearby chair and settling down comfortably.

Bobby had no idea why the kid came to him. This was the second time the youngest Winchester had approached him late at night. The first time had been different: the boy had only gotten a glass of water and then returned to bed. Bobby knew that the brothers were close, and it puzzled him that Dean didn't seem to know about Sam's nightmares or his nighttime wanderings.

Then again, he didn't really know these kids. Maybe Sam did this every night and Dean had just learned to sleep through it. Dean, who watched Bobby's every move with a mixture of admiration and distrust. Dean, who kept an eye on his little brother even more than he kept an eye on Bobby.

Why wasn't Sam telling _him_ about the nightmares?

Throwing the train of thought away, Bobby focused on his book. Damn, Winchesters. He was already trying to fix too many of their problems.

He felt his eyes growing heavy as they searched through the ancient text. Book after book had told him absolutely _nothing_ about a demon with yellow eyes. Nothing about ten-year deals that _didn't_ end with someone dead. To top that off, demon activity in the area had vanished entirely, leaving him nothing to go on. It was the first time in a long time that he was hitting a dead-end on a hunt.

Not that he was going to tell those boys that. He knew deep down that, come hell or high water, he wouldn't stop looking for their mother.

"Hey, Bobby?"

Sam's voice was even quieter now. Bobby had thought he had fallen asleep, but apparently not.

Not looking up from his book, Bobby gave a small grunt to tell Sam he was listening.

"D'you think…I mean…" his words were soft, whether from fear or sleep or maybe a bit of both, "You think dreams are ever real?"

Bobby frowned at the question, his eyes moving sideways to see Sam's unmoving form stretched out on the couch. There was only a bit of light from his small desk lamp, but he could see the flicker of it reflecting off Sam's open eyes, staring wide at the ceiling.

"Why do you ask?" Bobby said suspiciously.

"Well…" Sam finally blinked and turned his body a bit, looking towards Bobby, "you're a hunter. You've been a hunter a while?"

Bobby huffed under his breath. "Long enough."

"Do hunters ever…I mean…Do you ever have dreams about the stuff that happens to you?"

"Sometimes, I s'ppose." Truthfully, the only nightmares Bobby ever had were of things that had happened _before_ he started hunting. But the kid didn't need to know that.

"And do hunters ever…" Sam hesitated, "Do they ever have dreams about stuff that happens to them…_before_ it happens to them?"

"Well, there are psychics and the like. They can pick up supernatural signals and sometimes communicate with the dead and such. They've been known to see glimpses of the future now and again." Bobby felt like a textbook, rattling off facts to the boy without really thinking about it. He only knew of a few real psychics, but none of them were hunters.

Sam remained quiet. Bobby narrowed his eyes at him and turned even more so that he was facing the kid.

"What's a'matter, kid? You been having dreams?"

Hesitantly, Sam nodded.

"S'perfectly normal," Bobby tried to reassure him. "Not a lot of people go through what happened to you and your brother. There's a lot out there that would scare even the bravest folk."

Again, Sam didn't say anything. Bobby stared at him for another few moments before turning back towards his book with a reassuring, "I'll find your mom…keep you boys safe. You don't have to worry about your nightmares comin' true."

It was barely a heartbeat before Sam said quietly,

"What if they already have?"

* * *

Dean's eyes snapped open. Not because of the noise, but because of the silence.

He took a moment to orient himself.

Bobby Singer's house…upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms. Bobby hadn't called them "guest bedrooms", just spare bedrooms. Dean guessed that Bobby wasn't the type of guy who had company over very much.

He turned his head to the side so that he was looking towards Sammy's bed.

Empty.

The familiar panic shot through him and Dean found himself up and out the door before he realized what he was doing.

He knew Sammy had been having trouble sleeping. Bobby had hinted it to him yesterday. But the past week had been so draining for Dean, he found himself sleeping deeper than usual. The panic of not knowing where his mother was, and the uncertainty he still felt about anything and everything to do with hunting…it made his brain jump constantly from states of hyper-arousal to complete shutdown.

He stepped quietly through the hallway, going slower on the stairs as he tried not to make them squeak.

Dean knew that something was bothering Sammy. And he knew that something started _before_ the demon showed up at their house. It had started during school that day…That day when Sam wouldn't tell him about anything that had happened, other than falling asleep in class.

Dean wasn't sure that Sammy had slept very much at all since then.

Of course it didn't help that their mother had gone missing. Probably, Bobby had admitted, in connection with the demon that had visited their house.

Despite the protections that Mary had left them with, Bobby had been adamant that the boys couldn't stay in their house, not with their mother missing. Dean had argued with him for hours, till they were both blue in the face from frustration. In the end, Sammy had been the vote to break the tie. In a loud but shaky voice, he had told Dean that Bobby was probably the only help they were gonna get and they needed him. Sam had also said that because he knew that if _he_ agreed to go with Bobby, Dean would too. No way was Dean ever letting Sammy out of his sight again.

Except when his stupid body got so exhausted that his little brother could just walk out of the room without Dean even noticing.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he stayed in the shadows of the hallway and listened to the voices of Bobby and Sam talk quietly in the other room.

"What if they already have?"

Sammy's voice was so quiet, Dean wasn't sure it was him at first. He sounded young and more scared than Dean had heard him in a long time.

There was a moment of silence and Dean leaned closer to the doorway, afraid he would not be able to hear. Eavesdropping wasn't one of his strong-points, he was a more direct guy. But Sammy sounded like he was actually _talking_ to someone for the first time in days, so Dean made himself wait.

More than anything, Dean wanted to go in, grab Sammy, toss him into the Impala and leave this house and this life. He had been biting tooth and nail all week not to do so. His mom hadn't wanted either of them in this life, and Dean sure-as-hell didn't want Sammy in it. He had even contemplated leaving Sammy here with Bobby and going to find his mom himself, but the complete lack of knowledge on Dean's part didn't bode well for that plan. There was too much to learn and, for now, only Bobby to teach them.

Bobby finally spoke. "Say again?" His voice sounded a little shaky.

"The day that….that thing came to our house," Sam was still talking so quietly that Dean felt himself leaning closer and closer to the doorway to make sure he heard every word. "I knew it was coming."

The house got so quiet that Dean had to bring a hand to his mouth to muffle his breathing so they wouldn't hear him.

What the heck was Sam talking about?

Dean remembered sitting on the couch next to Sammy, super soaker in his lap and a dead look in his eyes.

"_I was prepared_."

He closed his eyes tightly, straining to hear Bobby's delayed response.

"How."

He said it more as a demand than a question. Bobby's voice had gotten firm and deeper.

"I accidentally fell asleep in class at school. It was…it was only for a few minutes, but I woke up cause I saw…I saw…"

Unable to resist, Dean risked peaking his head around the corner and saw that Sam was lying on the couch, curled up on his side, looking at nothing. Bobby sat a few feet away at his desk, whole body turned towards Sam with a mixture of horror and disbelief on his face.

"You're tellin' me you had a dream about that demon before, before it even showed up at your house?"

Dean saw Sam's head move up and down and he could have sworn the kid was starting to cry. Dean's stomach dropped and as he heard the next words, he suddenly felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

"I saw my mom answer the door and, and that man was on the porch. I saw his yellow eyes and…and after he grabbed my mom, he…" Sammy stopped to take a shuddering breath and sniff, but he still didn't look over at Bobby, just continued to stare off into the void.

"He looked right at me," his voice cracked and Dean knew for sure that there were tears on his face now. "Looked at me…and he said my name…and he said….he said he was coming for me."

Nobody seemed to breathe. Dean's entire world started to crash down around him as those words replayed in his head.

_He was coming for me._

_He was coming for me._

_Coming for me._

_For __**me**__._

_Sammy._

_Not Sammy._

_**Anyone**__ but Sammy._

_**Anyone but **__**Sammy**__._

The mantra rewrote itself in Dean's mind and it played on a loop until finally Sam spoke again.

"Then I woke up. I was still in school but I…I could still see his eyes."

Bobby's mouth was open slightly, horror etched in his face and he seemed just as floored as Dean was. That alone told Dean that this was not normal, even for a hunter. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

His legs suddenly felt very weak, and Dean found himself sliding to the floor like some love-struck fool in a chick flick. He couldn't help it. His body made a slight thump as he reached the ground, and a moment later, Bobby's shadow fell over him, darkening the already dark hallway that he had been spying from.

"Don't you Winchesters ever sleep?" Bobby's voice was almost back to its usual, gruff self. Dean couldn't see his face in the darkness, but he looked up at him in surprise and a bit of embarrassment.

"Apparently Sam doesn't." Dean knew he sounded like a petulant child, but after the initial shock of the subject died away, he was left with an annoyance that Sammy had chosen to confide in Bobby rather than him. Bobby, who had just caught him listening in on a conversation that, by all rights, should have happened between Sam and Dean.

Sam hadn't trusted Dean with that secret. Sam probably didn't trust that Dean could fix it for him.

Another wave of nausea hit him.

Sam was losing his faith in Dean.

That hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Bobby didn't reply, just turned to go back into the room. After a moment of consideration, Dean got himself back to his feet and followed.

Sammy was sitting up on the couch, looking a bit anxious. His muscles seemed to tighten even more when he saw Dean walk in, and Sam ducked his head in shame.

Dean tried not to take it personally. He clenched his jaw and went to sit next to his brother on the couch.

"I swear, I'm gonna start handcuffing you to that bed."

Sam didn't look up at him, just kept his head down, his hair hanging over his eyes. Dean could still see him biting his lip.

"How much did you hear?" he asked timidly.

Glancing over, Dean saw that Bobby had walked over to a nearby bookshelf, eyes and hands raking over the lines of books, but Dean could tell he was listening. Listening and staying out of it. For the moment at least.

"I heard enough, Sammy," Dean used the nickname in an effort to get Sam annoyed enough to look at him, but it didn't work. Sam's head stayed down. Dean leaned forward, matching Sam's pose with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"When were you gonna tell _me_ about all this?" He kept his voice low, even though he knew Bobby could still hear. He didn't want to sound mad, even though he was. He let the pain show through instead; the anguish of not being able to do a damn thing for his brother at that moment. "I knew something was wrong, why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

"I didn't know how to say it," Sam's voice cracked again. "You would've thought I was crazy."

"Dude, I already think you're crazy," Dean said in a comforting tone. That one got a slight chuckle from Sam, and then he finally looked up at Dean. A few tears had run down his face but he was obviously distressed enough that he was no longer trying to hide them from Dean.

"Wait, but then you…" he looked hopeful, which made Dean hopeful. "You believe me?"

"Course I believe you," Dean said it matter-of-factly, not needing another reason, "You're my brother."

The side of Sammy's mouth quirked a bit and it looked like he was going to start crying again, so Dean slung an arm over his shoulders and noogied his head quickly before Sammy could scramble away.

"You're still friggin' crazy, but you're my brother," Dean assured Sam, who was trying to wriggle out of the headlock and had thrown a few expletives at Dean. They fought for a few moments before Sammy got an elbow into Dean's gut, finally getting Dean to release him and they pulled apart from each other.

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

Dean smirked. "Bitch."

Sensing that the family bonding was over, Bobby cleared his throat as he turned to face them.

"Crazy or not, Sam having dreams or visions or whatnot may be our best lead yet."

Dean felt his mood grow somber at the words. "How do you mean?"

"Well," Bobby walked back towards them, arms loaded with books, "it gives us a whole new line of research." Slamming the books onto his desk, Bobby sat back down, pursing his lips as he looked at them. "Although I ain't never heard of non-psychics having visions before." He turned towards Sam. "You moving things with your mind or seeing dead people anywhere?"

Dean pulled a face and looked over to see Sam's mirroring his own. "Uhh, no," Sam confirmed. "It was just the dream."

"And just that one time?"

Sam nodded and then went still, thinking. "Well I haven't really…" He snuck a glance over at Dean, looking guilty. "I haven't really been sleeping very much."

Dean exchanged a look with Bobby.

"Yeah, we've noticed, kid."

"Sorry."

Dean had never heard Sam apologize as much as he had in the past half hour.

After a moment or two of some more awkward silence, Bobby cut through it.

"Before I make you two haul ass back to bed, because, by the way," he added, stopping Dean's burgeoning protests, "you _are_ going to school tomorrow; tell me here and now if there are any more secrets you're keepin'." He looked at both of them squarely in turn.

"School? Are you kidding me?" Dean motioned to Sam. "Sammy's got a freakin' demon gunning for him. What does school matter now anyway?"

He could hear the eye roll in Sam's retort. "It's _Sam_, and don't use me as an excuse, Dean. Just because _you_ hate school-"

"You're both gonna keep going to school and that's the end of it," Bobby interrupted the ensuing fight. "I sure as hell don't want you running around the house all day and it's not safe enough for you to go anywhere else."

"But we could help-"

"Cool it, kid," Bobby cut off Dean this time. "You can help when you get back in the evenings, and you can help in the ways that _I_ let you help, not any way you damn well please."

Unused to having a higher male authority than him, Dean desperately wanted to keep arguing, but he had a feeling it would get him nowhere. It didn't work when he wanted to stay at their home. It didn't work when he wanted Bobby to teach him to shoot. It didn't even work the last time they had this specific argument, and that had only ended with Bobby threatening to shoot them himself if they didn't get in the car and go to school.

The one upside was that Bobby hadn't wanted Dean to drive any of his cars, so Dean had been getting to drive the Impala to and from school all week.

Focusing on the car, Dean grit his teeth and leaned back into the couch, visually giving up on the argument.

"Now I say again," Bobby continued, not missing a beat, "Anything else to share with the class?"

Dean and Sammy exchanged glances. They had told Bobby everything they knew about the demon, which wasn't much. They had brought along their mother's single box of hunting supplies with them to Bobby's house. They knew that there was more their mother hadn't told them, but if they didn't know it, they couldn't tell Bobby. Maybe it was better that way.

"No, sir," Sam said confidently, looking back at Bobby with an innocence that Dean knew he lacked.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at Dean, as if daring him to come up with something.

"No, sir," Dean said through gritted teeth. "Nothing."

"Fine. Get back to bed and don't sleep through your alarms."

* * *

They didn't talk again until they were both back upstairs, lying in their beds, neither of them close to sleep.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Pause.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"S'okay."

Silence.

"It was just, I was scared and I thought that maybe Bobby would know…"

"Yeah."

Silence.

"You must trust him a lot."

"Don't you?"

Pause. Then,

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah."

"You know I'd never let that demon hurt you."

Pause. And then,

"I know."

"We're gonna figure it out."

"Yeah."

"Do you believe me?"

Silence.

"Sammy?"

"I believe you, Dean."

* * *

_a/n: Slowly but surely, I'm still trying to update this story. It's just becoming longer and longer as I find myself weaving these threads that I didn't even plan on. I promise there is still a reason for everything, so don't ask why Sam's having visions when he's so young…it will all be explained I promise! I hope you can all stick with me. I keep jumping ahead in the timeline because I want to get through this part of the story and I'm trying to just include the important parts, so I hope you're able to follow what's happening. There's still going to be a big time jump coming up, hopefully within a few more chapters, but there are a few more things that need to happen and all these conversations are just taking up longer than I wanted. That last conversation between Sam and Dean was originally more complex, but I rewrote it very simply and it seemed to fit their style more. I hope I'm still getting them in character. Bobby's hard for me to write for some reason, so apologies if he's off again. I try to keep the swearing down, but these characters often take that choice away from me. Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Please, please, I won't-"

"But you will. We both know it."

"Please." Tears. "I'll do anything…"

"You really won't. I already gave you a chance."

"…They'll be alone."

"They're not alone anymore."

"But he-"

"He'll teach them more than you ever would…I need them ready, Mary. I need _him_…primed."

"They would never-"

"I'll give them a reason."

"Please, you already took their father…"

"It wasn't enough, even for you."

"P-please, please just kill me and leave them-"

A hand shot out, slapping her so hard that she fell to the ground. Stars danced in her vision as she tried to look back up at him through eyes that were overflowing with tears.

His yellow eyes bore into hers and she saw his mouth twitch as he spoke.

"This is not about _you_. This was _never_ about you."

* * *

Sam knew that something was wrong because (a), everyone in the office was giving him sympathetic looks, and (b) Dean was usually the one sent to the principal's office, not him.

"Sammy?"

Speak of the devil.

Sam turned and walked towards Dean, who was slowly coming out of the principal's office, his face a bit pale.

"Dean? What's…" Sam frowned at his brother, his eyes looking around the office again, scanning the faces. Two of the secretaries looked away quickly and the third tried to inconspicuously wipe her eyes as she made copies over by the machine. Looking back towards Dean, Sam saw Principal Asperia behind him, her eyes wide and sad as she looked at the two brothers.

Dean placed a firm but comforting hand on Sammy's shoulder and immediately started steering him out of the office, away from all the eyes watching them.

"Dean?" Sam questioned again, but Dean didn't say anything, just opened the door, leading out into the small courtyard in front of the school. Opening his mouth to ask again, Sam turned to look up at Dean, but the words caught in his throat.

He saw one small tear fall down his big brother's face.

Sam felt his heart sink to his toes and a sort of white noise filled his ears.

Dean was crying.

Dean _never_ cried.

He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder gently push him down to sit on one of the benches.

They were both silent for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean quickly reach up to wipe away the one offending tear.

"Sammy, they found mom."

Half expecting this, Sam's only response was to clench his jaw and fight back the impending tears.

Dean waited a moment, but when Sam didn't respond, he continued in a shaky voice.

"Someone brought her to the hospital…They had found her in a ditch just outside of town." His voice broke a little bit when he said the word "ditch".

Sam clenched his jaw tight enough that it hurt, pushing a few tears out of his eyes.

"Is she alive?"

Dean didn't immediately reply, but when he did, he only got one word out, his voice breaking again.

"Yes."

* * *

Alive was a cruel word to use, but technically, Mary Winchester was still alive. Dean had demanded to see her "charts". He knew from movies that people's charts were supposed to tell you what was wrong with them and how they were fixing it…or not fixing it.

Despite his lack of medical knowledge, Dean could tell, by looking at her charts, that none of it was good news.

Eight days. She had been gone eight days. How had this all happened in only eight days?

Puncture wounds, internal damage, bleeding internally, brain bruising…the doctor's threw the words around the two brothers. None of it comforting. All of it utterly and completely hopeless.

Sammy hadn't said a word since they'd walked in the room, just gone straight over to their mother's side and taken her hand in his. He still stood there, watching her face while the doctors talked at Dean.

The chart was in his hands, but he felt absolutely useless. The voices in the room drowned out in his head, overtaken by the soft beeping of the heart monitor…the only indication that his mother was still alive.

"Nothing," Dean finally said, trying to sound angry, but just sounding like a kid. "There's nothing you can do?"

Only one doctor was left in the room now, an older man with a neatly-trimmed beard who spoke softly and calmly with Dean.

"I'm so sorry, son."

"I'm not your son," Dean said through gritted teeth, hating the pet name that every adult male in his life had tried to use with him since his father died.

He glanced over at the bed again. Sammy was still in the same position, eyes fixed on Mary's battered face. Looking back at the doctor, Dean started grasping for something, anything.

"There's got to be some medicine or surgery or something-"

"She's lost too much blood to survive any surgical options and we have given her some drugs to help with the pain." The doctor sighed regrettably. "At this point all we can do is make her comfortable…for however long she has left."

Dean was almost too afraid to ask.

"And how long is that?"

The doctor spread his hands a bit, at a loss. "Probably only hours."

Blinking through his tears, Dean turned away, reaching a hand up to cover his face in case Sammy looked over at him. He felt the doctor give his shoulder a comforting squeeze before exiting the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Dean couldn't think straight. His eyes wouldn't stop watering up and the sound of the heart monitor had grown from a small beep to a crushing pounding in his head. He reached out and steadied himself on the corner of the hospital bed, trying to get a grip before Sammy turned around. Someone had to be strong right now. _He_ had to be strong right now.

He found himself shoving down his emotions, burying them away until he reached a point where he could deal with them.

This wasn't that point.

Standing up straighter, he maneuvered over behind Sam and sat down on the bed, bringing him just about eye level with his little brother. He slid his hand on top of Sam's, who was holding their mom's hand.

"She's not going to wake up, is she?" Sam whispered, and Dean saw tears running freely down his face. Sam had never been one to bottle his emotions. He never had to. Dean would be there for him. Always.

"Probably not."

"Do they…" Sam's voice hitched and he took a shaky breath. "Do they know who did this to her?"

"No."

"But we do."

Dean felt a hot anger flash through him and he saw _yellow_.

"Yeah."

He felt Sammy squeeze their mom's hand.

After a moment of silence, Dean felt and saw Sammy's shoulder slump a bit as he leaned into his big brother for support.

"Dean?"

_Are you there?_

"I'm right here, Sammy." Dean reached his other arm around to pull Sammy next to him on the bed, and left it around his shoulders, not wanting to let go.

* * *

She held on longer than anyone expected.

The doctors and/or nurses checked in about every hour. The early ones had tried to make conversation with the two boys, but after several failed attempts, they stopped. They simply came in the room, checked the machines, and left, shooting sympathetic looks at the two boys who sat together on their dying mother's bed.

There had been a bit of excitement when Bobby had turned up. Dean had heard him down the hall, demanding to be let in. Not even thinking twice about it, Dean had gone out and told everyone that Bobby was their uncle and that was the end of that. Now the old hunter sat in the corner of the room, his presence comforting, but far enough away not to interfere with the small family.

Around midnight, Bobby left to get himself and Dean some coffee. Sam had wanted some, but neither Bobby nor Dean would agree.

Dean felt Sam's head droop a bit on his shoulder. They had moved off the bed and brought two chairs together right next to the top of the bed, close enough that they could both rest their heads on the mattress.

Sammy preferred to rest his head on Dean.

Dean knew Sammy wanted to stay awake, but part of him hoped that his little brother would be asleep when their mom finally passed. It might be easier for him that way.

He felt his own eyes fighting to stay open.

Suddenly, a different sound from the machines brought him fully awake.

He raised his head questioningly to the machines, squinting at the different blinking lights and lines. Unfortunately, his sudden movement jerked Sam awake too and he asked sleepily, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Sammy, go back to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"The drool spot on my shirt says otherwise."

"Shut up."

"Dean?"

The both whipped their heads around.

Mary's eyes were barely cracked open and she was looking towards them. Looking at Dean.

The beeping in the machines increased a bit and Dean felt himself shaking as he and Sammy leaned in towards their mother.

"Mom?"

"Mom? Mom?" Sammy's voice sounded desperately young and he had already started crying again.

Dean gently took her hand.

"Sammy…" Mary breathed out his name in a sigh of, what Dean could only describe as, relief. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them.

"We gottcha, Mom," Dean said, squeezing her hand and reaching over to bring Sammy's hand to join them. "You're gonna be just fine." He couldn't help but say it. That's what you say right? Even if you know it's a lie, maybe saying it helps you believe it.

Mary closed her eyes briefly and Dean saw her shake her head ever so slightly. "I'm so sorry, baby." She looked over at Sam. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't say that," Dean demanded of her, blinking back tears. "You were protecting us. You…"

"You can't go, Mom," Sam came in with his own demand. "Please don't…"

"I'm sorry." Her voice, if possible, was getting even weaker, and Dean could hear the beeping starting to increase rapidly.

"No, No," Dean shook his head, tightening his grip on her hand as if he could force her to stay, force her to live.

He felt her finally squeeze back ever-so-softly and then whisper,

"Take care of each other."

"Mom…Mom!?" Sammy's pleas were desperate and Dean felt numb as her hand went limp in his and her eyes closed again.

"Mom?"

Dean spoke as Sam had earlier, his voice quiet and lost and searching.

_Are you there?_

His ears finally registered the machines flat lining as the door burst open, a few doctors and nurses rushing over, pushing the two brothers away from their mother as they began to work on bringing her back.

Bringing her back.

Cause she was gone.

She was gone.

_Are you there?_

The deafening tone of the machine never changed.

Without even realizing, Dean found himself clinging to Sammy who was crying desperately, his arms gripping Dean so tight that it probably would have hurt if Dean could feel it.

If Dean could feel anything.

_Are you there?_

She wasn't.

* * *

a/n: Sorry for the longer wait and the shorter chapter, but real life interferes much more during this time of year. I haven't abandoned this story, I promise. I hope there are still a few of you out there to read it, lol. This chapter surprised me, as I had intended to keep Mary alive for a bit longer. But the story demanded it, so there you go. Not turning into much of an AU if I just keep killing people, lol. Ah well, we shall see…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was different than when Dad had died.

Dean remembered when Dad had died. He remembered the funeral. He remembered the hordes of people who showed up, bringing casseroles and fruit baskets, dressing in black and sympathetically spending hours and hours in their house trying to comfort their mom. He remembered not wanting any of them to be there. He remembered sitting on the top of the stairs with Sammy, hugging him tightly and glaring at all the people in their house who would not just _leave them alone_.

He remembered that there had been a few legal things to take care of. He remembered a few men in suits talking to his mom about "John's Will" and "financial obligations".

And he remembered leaving their house for the last time, half of their possessions sold, Sammy's hand held tightly in his while their mother couldn't stop crying in the driver's seat of the Impala. He remembered that he had wanted to cry too. Wanted to cry and hit things and scream at the entire world for doing this to his family.

Dean wasn't crying now. Couldn't seem to get any tears out.

Sammy cried on and off for days. After one afternoon of trying to calm down a crying Sammy for almost an hour, Dean had marched out of the house, grabbed a crowbar from one of Bobby's workbenches and proceeded to beat the crap out of a 1964 Volvo.

Even then he still couldn't cry.

And nobody showed up for the funeral. They didn't even really have a funeral. She was cremated and Dean, Sam and Bobby drove all the way out to the Oregon coast to spread her ashes at sea. It was the only place Dean felt comfortable leaving any memory of his mother. The only place where she would be untouched by whatever evil had taken her from them in the first place.

By far their biggest challenge this time around had been Social Services.

The arguments had started in the hospital, not hours after Mary's death, about "legal rights" and "due process". Bobby had cursed out one or two of them rather nicely at the mention of separate foster homes. Mary's Will had thankfully been located, but she had made very little provisions for the event of her death.

Pastor Jim was the first name on the list. Everyone had been surprised when Bobby had informed them that he knew Jim, but Dean tried hard to not show his. They called Jim on speakerphone, the lawyers and social workers listening in as Jim expressed grief at Mary's death, and even more grief explaining that he could not take custody of the boys, but vouched very strongly for Bobby Singer. Dean listened to the phone call between Bobby and Jim, heart pounding at the discovery that, all along, Pastor Jim had been a hunter.

He wondered if his mom had known.

Probably.

Dean had wanted to continue with the idea that Bobby was their maternal uncle, but Bobby knew that lie wouldn't hold up in court, which was where they were headed one way or another. They settled on the idea that he was an old friend of their father's, who they referred to as "Uncle Bobby".

Dean had sat Sam down one night and they had talked about Bobby. They had known the man less than a month but both of them knew there were no other options, other than splitting up in foster homes which, to Dean at least, was not an option. Even though he liked to complain about them loudly every so often, Bobby had opened his house up to them with little fuss and was fighting hard to keep the two boys together, even if it meant being saddled with them for the rest of his life. Both Sam and Dean agreed that, under the circumstances, Bobby was the best and safest option for them.

It felt like years, but it was only a few weeks before Bobby was legally awarded custody. Social Services would keep checking in on them now-and-then, but Dean wasn't worried. There were so few people who knew them, who cared about them…it wouldn't be long before they simply fell through the cracks. As long as they could keep Bobby out of any legal trouble, he and Sam would remain together, and that was what mattered.

One month after Mary's death, and Dean still hadn't cried.

* * *

It had been a particularly grueling day.

Dean was surprised, and even a little cheerful at Bobby's announcement that he got to skip school that day. But his heart had dropped when Bobby had explained why.

It was their last legal battle with anything any everything having to do with Mary.

They had rooted through their townhouse weeks ago, the boys taking a few duffle bags each of clothes and possessions that they needed. Bobby had scoured the house for any more hunting supplies that Mary had been hiding and was rewarded with another box of books and a smaller box of spell work supplies.

Dean and Sam had both agreed that the rest should be sold.

Bobby was reluctant that so much of their past should be parted with, but Dean insisted that they sell it and that Bobby got the money. His cost of living had skyrocketed in the past month with two teenage boys eating him out of house and home. Bobby had finally agreed to sell, but told them both that the money would be put in the bank for the two of them to use later in life.

Turns out there wasn't much to sell anyway.

Bobby took Dean to the auction. He had to be there for legal reasons. Sam probably should have been there as well, but Dean didn't want him to be. It was hard enough watching all their possessions sold to strangers. He didn't need Sammy by his side, his puppy-dog eyes begging Dean to "just keep one more thing".

It only took a short amount of time. They had always lived a bit sparsely, easier to pack up and move that way. In the end, they scraped together about a thousand dollars from all of their possessions. It was a meager reminder of all that they had lost.

Neither of them spoke on the car ride home.

Dean felt the check burning a hole in his pocket and he fought the urge to throw it out the window of the moving car. Stupid money. Stupid car. Stupid auction. Stupid everything. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

When they reached the house, Dean made a beeline for the workshop in the back. He ducked down underneath the latest car that Bobby was working on, a '71 dodge charger. Bobby had been teaching him a lot about cars in the past few weeks and Dean had enjoyed working with his hands, getting his mind off of his life. His stupid, stupid life.

As he stared blankly up at the underside of the car, he heard footsteps come towards him and recognized Bobby's worn boots.

"Sam needs to be picked up in about an hour."

Dean made a small noise to indicate that he heard.

"I'll take the money to the bank tomorrow. Make you boys an account."

Another grunt of acknowledgement.

Bobby didn't move. Dean started to feel an unreasonable anger build in him as the man just stood there. Just stood there and wouldn't leave him the hell alone.

Alone, he just wanted to be _alone_.

It had been a particularly grueling day.

The anger built but Dean didn't move. Just laid there fuming, trying to understand why he was so mad. He shouldn't be mad. It was _Bobby_. _Bobby_, who had been doing everything for them this past month. _Bobby_, who was probably their only friend in the world right now. _Bobby_, who's life had turned around just as much as theirs had.

He saw Bobby move a bit, turning around, and the car shifted a bit as he leaned up against it, crossing his ankles nonchalantly.

"Listen, Dean. I know you don't want to talk."

Dean closed his eyes at the impending pep talk. He had actually expected this a while ago. Adults always thought that talking fixed things, talking would make things better.

"And I don't blame you. If I were in your place I'd probably be throwing a punch or two."

Dean remained silent.

"But I _was_ in your place, kid. I lost my dad…and my mom."

Well, _that_ was new information.

"I'm not sayin' that I know how you're feeling, cause I don't. I'm just sayin'…" he took a deep breath. "Look, it's easy to be mad about it. Anger's an easy emotion. Everything else is hard."

Dean felt hands start to shake a bit, his jaw clenched.

"And hell, if you ain't one of the strongest kids I've ever met."

A wash of new emotion seemed to sweep over Dean at those words. Before he could figure out what was happening, he felt tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. His fists unclenched, falling loosely down to his sides and the underside of the car blurred in his vision.

Bobby stayed still for a few more seconds before straightening up and walking back towards the house.

The new emotions bombarded him as he felt his anger get shoved back, replaced with fear and loneliness and sadness and guilt and overwhelming defeat. His hands came up carefully in the small space, covering his eyes. His shoulders bobbed a bit from silent sobs that he could no longer contain. He felt the weight of the past month crash down on him all at once and he gasped for breath, the smell of engines and oil around him new and comforting at the same time.

He was grateful for the small claustrophobic space underneath the car, containing him, holding him together as he finally cried.

* * *

Bobby had been tactful enough to not mention Dean's red, puffy eyes that afternoon. Dean grabbed the keys for the Impala and told Bobby they'd be back by dark. Bobby made sure they both had a warded necklace and Dean promised to keep holy water and salt on him at all times.

After picking up Sam, Dean drove them both to a nearby state park where they spent the afternoon throwing rocks at geese and walking on the man-made trails through the forests.

Sam didn't question Dean about what they were doing, which Dean was grateful for, and though they seemed to be constantly surrounded by people, both of the boys kept their attention focused on each other.

It was the first time in weeks that Dean had really gotten to spend time just with Sammy. The first time in weeks where the cloud of their mother's death wasn't looming over them. Dean still heard her every time Sam laughed, and Sam still saw her every time Dean smiled. But they held on to each other and, at least for that afternoon, they were not drowning.

That night, after Sam went to bed, Dean got Bobby to agree to teach him how to shoot.

* * *

The next year brought on a lot of changes for the Winchesters and Bobby.

For one thing, Sam hit 13 years old, which seemed to trigger what Dean called a "freakish growth spurt", causing Sam to grow several inches within only a few weeks. Sam, for one, was delighted at the changes and constantly annoyed Dean with how he was almost as tall as him. Dean, on the other hand, constantly reminded Sam that no matter how tall he got, Dean would always be older and that trumped everything.

Bobby had taught both Dean and Sam how to shoot. The boys seemed way more comfortable with it than he had expected, but he knew that revenge was always a good motivator. He kept them in school, determined to give them at least some normality in their lives, but Bobby knew that having both a mother and a father killed by a demon would guarantee a life of hunting for both the boys. Whether it was a nearby haunting, or geographical signs of demon possession, Dean and Sam were always keen to investigate.

Like it or not, Bobby couldn't seem to keep the Winchesters away from the Supernatural.

Dean also had a birthday. The January he turned 17, Bobby took him on a hunt. It was supposed to be just a deer hunt, but the Winchesters seemed a magnet for the unnatural, and they ended up taking out a Werewolf, which delighted and terrified Dean at the same time. Sam, who had been forced to stay with Pastor Jim for the weekend, sulked about missing the action. Bobby compromised by letting Sam start reading some of the more questionable books from his massive collection.

The Werewolf hunt spurred on several more weekend hunts…and several more after that. Once he had overcome a few initial fears and doubts, Dean took to hunting like he had been born for it. Sam took more to the academic side of hunting, reading up about the hunts that they went on and coming up with ideas and theories that even Bobby didn't think of right away. While neither Dean nor Bobby let Sam go on the hunts, they eventually started leaving him alone at Bobby's. Between all of the protective measures and his grizzly, newly acquired dog Rumsfeld who watched over Sam like a mother hen, there was probably not a safer place for him.

Bobby introduced Dean to a few of his more trusted hunting buddies, among them were Ellen and Bill Harvell who ran the Roadhouse down in Nebraska. Dean got Bobby's help in outfitting the Impala with a compartment in the trunk for hunting tools. Sam's visions hadn't returned and, unable to come up with a better explanation, Dean and Bobby had chalked that one up to "good luck".

Through it all, the yellow eyes of the demon watched them.

He smiled as his plans fell into place.

Only a bit more motivation was needed.

* * *

_a/n: First off, I have no idea how child custody gets dealt with, so just roll with it. That being said, I know I crammed a LOT into that last little bit, but I wanted a sort of transitional, passing-the-time chapter, showing things getting back towards the cannon a bit, but not completely cause that would be boring. I tried to make Bobby's actions as realistic as possible, in terms of letting the boys hunt. Surely he wouldn't want to, but how would he keep them away from it? Answer: he couldn't. There will be a bit of a time jump next chapter and I will include some flashbacks onto the years that I'm just kind breezing by. I've actually be contemplating starting a sequel and just ending this one here with that last part as sort of an epilogue. Let me know what you think._


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